


Blasphemy (The Victimless Crime)

by SilentSinger



Series: The Cricket Chronicles [1]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blasphemy, Bullying, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Multi, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Guilt, Threesome - F/M/M, Unrequited Love, charlie and dee are asshole. why cricket hate?, did i mention the blasphemy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 12:31:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14618607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentSinger/pseuds/SilentSinger
Summary: An alternate and extremely far-fetched scenario for S03E13: The Gang Gets Whacked (Part 2).





	Blasphemy (The Victimless Crime)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rissalf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rissalf/gifts).



> Here it is: the Charlie/Cricket/Dee threeway that nobody asked for. You are welcome.

Subject to frequent teabagging at the hands of his supposed friends, and hurtful jibes regarding his physical appearance, Matthew Mara had never once in his life felt like a winner. Meeting Deandra Reynolds in physical therapy – her golden hair cascading over the dull, angular metal of her back brace like a celestial corona – had seemed like the kind of divine intervention that only occurs to those even remotely worthy. She’d snubbed him, of course, wrinkling her nose and pursing her lips as though nothing but a rancid turd in a school uniform was sitting beside her, but it had only fuelled Matthew’s desire to pursue her. Gaining the approval and affection of Sweet Dee Reynolds, by any means necessary, suddenly seemed to Matthew’s prepubescent mind, a noble objective to strive for. It gave his hitherto miserable existence some semblance of purpose; his own personal quest for the Holy Grail. This was how Matthew Mara was to become a champion.

In her own way, she eventually warmed to him – the way a person might grow accustomed to the odour of a particularly offensive fart. He carried her books, he did her math homework, he even – to the best of his abilities – attempted to fight off the countless oppressors of the Aluminum Monster. Every waking moment of his existence he lived and breathed Dee Reynolds. She’d come around, eventually. She had to.

When she’d agreed to kiss him on the grounds of his eating an entire horse shit, he’d done so with enthusiasm – the end justifying the means unequivocally. Every rotten mouthful of that foul feculence had brought him closer to his reward, and the fact that he was even willing to entertain such a despicable task clearly showed nothing but the utmost devotion. When she’d laughed him off and he’d made his way to the nearest waste receptacle to vomit, despite the humiliation and the stench of faeces on his breath, he knew that he was one step closer.

Even when he took his vows, although his heart had been filled with the light and love and acceptance of God, he’d been dimly aware of the perpetual longing he harboured for Dee – tucked away in an unassuming wooden box, sealed and shelved in the darkest recesses of his psyche, but ultimately still present. Perhaps one day she’d allow him to open it.

When Dee had finally declared her undying love for him, the euphoria of the possibility that his life’s work – his  _ true _ life’s work – had not been in vain, had overwhelmed him. He’d ripped away his clerical collar and pleasured himself before even leaving the confessional, gasping out a whispered  _ “Forgive me” _ as he climaxed to the notion of Dee’s perfect reddened lips wrapped around his dick – for once in her life unwilling and unable to ridicule him – her wide, blue eyes gazing up at him with adoration. Little Matty Mara had finally won.

His victory was short-lived, of course. And while he had to admit, lowering his balls into Dennis’ unconscious mouth had given him a modicum of satisfaction, his life from here on out was about to plunge into the dankest chasm of shit-infused sludge imaginable.

Returning to the priesthood was unthinkable, and so, after losing his apartment and everything he held dear, Matthew took to the streets, begging for spare change and offering counsel to those who didn’t try to steal his hard-earned quarters, try to violate him, or both – and even to some who did.

When Dee and Charlie had stumbled upon him at his lowest point to date and convinced him to sell cocaine, with the promise of shelter at Dee’s apartment, Matthew had done so gladly. While Sweet Dee Reynolds may have been the catalyst for his downward spiral, his love for her had never diminished, and maybe, just maybe, she’d finally come around.

****

Dee’s finger is in his mouth. Sure, it’s covered in cocaine and being guided by Charlie, but Matthew’s previous enthusiasm for crashing out on her soft, warm bed and snuggling up to her adorable bowtie-wearing teddy bear is diminishing so fast that it’s no more than a speck on the horizon of new possibilities. Dee’s finger is in his mouth, and she tastes of sunshine and sweetness and bitter chemicals and every repressed compulsion he’s ever entertained, and fuck the Lord’s plan; fuck the vows he’d taken under the watchful gaze of a loving yet vengeful God. Fuck not giving himself over to this completely. Dee’s finger is in his mouth. His gums are numb. Dee’s finger is in his mouth.

“Jesus, Cricks, dude,” Charlie exclaims, withdrawing Dee’s digit with a tone of mock-disgust. “Do you have a boner right now?”

Does he? Oh, shit. When did that happen? His head feels different. It feels wrong. There’s a distant hum of white noise in his ears, and it seems to be spreading its tendrils throughout his whole body. It puts him in mind of the buzzer from Family Fight, somehow. Your answer, Father Mara, is incorrect. Wrong. Wrong.  _ Wrong. _

“I- It’s been a long time for me, guys,” Matthew replies, and he can hear his own voice raising an octave as he tries to explain away the situation.  _ Do I always sound so shrill? Christ. _

Dee and Charlie turn their heads toward one another, eyes glinting with malevolent glee. Their stance appears to shift as they edge closer to Matthew, transforming from that of common schoolyard bullies about to administer a particularly painful wedgie – to the cool, predatory intent of a pair of feral cats cornering a mouse. Whatever they’re planning now, it’s sure to be cruel, demeaning, and absolutely no fucking good.

“You know,” Dee begins, the sweetness of her tone betrayed entirely by the malice in her gaze, and suddenly little Matty Mara is transported back to the playground, face-to-face with a steaming pile of horse shit. But she’s so close to him now. So close. He can feel the warmth radiating from her; he can smell the delicate floral notes of her perfume. Sweet, Sweet Dee. “You’re a drug addict now,” she continues, with a smirk. “A homeless drug addict.”

Charlie nods in enthusiastic agreement, his eyes wide and unnervingly sincere. “Yup, yup. And that means...”

They’re fucking with him. They have to be. Addiction doesn’t occur after using just once, does it? It’s not like he asked for it. Christ, he’d really like to fuck Dee. Fuck the shit out of her. Wrong, Father Mara. Wrong, wrong,  _ wrong. _

It happens before Matthew even has time to protest. After rubbing another hefty fingerful of coke onto her gums, Dee drops to her knees and frees Charlie’s cock from his pants, and  _ Jesus tittyfucking Christ _ this should not be happening and it certainly should not be turning Matthew on.

“I’m about to teach you a valuable life skill, Cricket,” Dee says, before licking a long, wet stripe along the underside of Charlie’s length as he groans in response. “Watch very closely.”

As Dee takes Charlie into her mouth, despite his better judgement, Matthew pictures himself in Charlie’s position – hands tangled in Dee’s soft hair as he urges her to take him deeper, to take it all. He can practically feel his dick hitting the back of her throat. Before he realises what he’s doing, he’s unzipped his pants.

“This is your future now, buddy,” says Charlie, with a wink at Matthew and a chilling sneer upon his lips. “Better get used to it.”

Maybe it is. He’s experienced enough of the streets already to know that sucking dick as recompense is more than commonplace. But whatever the fuck is happening right now, he wants it. Motherfuck, he wants it. Dee is moaning around her mouthful and Charlie is flushed and breathing heavily and suddenly Matthew is stroking himself, and it doesn’t fucking matter because nothing matters anymore except right here and right now.  _ This _ is how Matthew Mara becomes a champion.

“Need a little help there, Cricket?” Charlie questions, as he reaches down and brushes Matthew’s hand away, replacing it with his own. “Don’t worry, dude. I got you.”

_ No, no. Fuck- _

He sinks back against the cool refrigerator behind him, allowing Charlie’s calloused hand to work him with vigour as Dee sucks and slurps and moans around the flesh in her mouth.  _ Forgive me, Lord, for I am sinning like a motherfucker.  _ As Charlie’s pace matches that of Dee’s head bobbing back and forth along his own cock, Matthew takes a moment to consider just how many Hail Marys he’ll need to recite to atone for this transgression. Probably for the rest of his life. His life suddenly seems long, measured in Hail Marys.

“How’s that working for you, Cricks?” Charlie says, with all the nonchalance of a stranger on the bus making small talk about the last Eagles game. “Gotta show a little courtesy to our star salesman, you know?”

It’s working just goddamn fine, all things considered. The Reverend of Irreverence: Drug Dealer Extraordinaire backed up against a fridge with his pants around his ankles and a man’s hand caressing his dick while the love of his life is swallowing said fellow down to the balls right in front of his eyes and oh, yeah. This is fine. This is just fucking  _ fine. _

Feeling as though there’s nothing left to lose – and in truth, there clearly isn’t, at this point – he reaches for the baggie hanging half-out of Charlie’s pocket and gives himself a much-needed top up. He sinks into the feeling, squeezing his eyes tight and savouring the concentrated pleasure emanating from his head and his groin, before dipping in again to apply some to Charlie’s gums too, who sucks appreciatively at Matthew’s finger like a baby at a bottle. Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?

Dee is tireless as she works Charlie’s cock, cheeks hollowed and saliva glistening on her chin, and as Charlie continues to beat him off, Matthew finds himself picturing her exquisite white ass reddened from the sting of his palm, her naked frame squirming and writhing in pain and pleasure. He pictures his mouth buried deep in her pussy, her strong legs wrapped around him, tight but not tight enough to muffle the sublime sound of her screaming his name as she comes. And last, but not least, he pictures her lying beneath him, smiling sweetly as he unloads all over her perfect fucking face.  _ “Oh, Matty, you could really, really have me.”  _ Christ, he wants that. More than anything.  _ Jesus, fuck, _ he’s close now.  _ Just a little more, just like that, fuck, Dee- _

Suddenly it’s all ripped away. Charlie is cursing and moaning, both of his hands clinging to the back of Dee’s head as he hammers deep into her mouth and comes with a guttural bellow. Matthew, ever the survivalist, gives himself a few firm strokes before baptising his own fist with the unholiest of tributes, Dee’s name spilling from his lips as he does so. 

 

As Charlie puts his dick away, Dee rises to her feet and straightens herself up, and it’s as though the last fifteen minutes never happened. Granted, Matthew supposes, this will never be brought up again. Ever. The Gang seems to suffer with a collective amnesia when it comes to him.

“Got yourself in a bit of a mess there, bro,” Charlie says, with a derisive snort. Dee tries, and fails, to stifle a giggle. “And in your priest get-up too, no less. Jesus Christ, dude. Clean yourself up and go make us some money.”

It doesn’t matter that they’re back to casually berating him again. Matthew feels truly alive. He feels like the proverbial caterpillar blossoming into a majestic butterfly, and that he could fly if he chose to do so. It’s as if he’s now a part of something bigger than the universe, and he wants to tell everyone about it; shout it from the rooftops, if he has to. He leaves the apartment with a half ounce of coke, a smile on his face and an irrepressible urge to create and to share his tale with the world. He’s always fancied himself a musician, as it happens. Regardless, he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it. However it goes down, and whatever he comes up with – it needs to be goddamn good and sexy.

Hips and nips.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record: I love Cricket, like, a lot. It was an absolute joy to fuck with him. :)
> 
> [okimi79.tumblr.com](http://okimi79.tumblr.com)
> 
> [Click here for a literal snapshot! :3](http://riddlelvr.tumblr.com/post/175917896738/dees-finger-is-in-his-mouth-sure-its-covered)


End file.
